“I can’t allow it,” the colonel said.
Fedor gave an audible sigh and spoke into his telecommunicator in Polish. Immediately, the sound of diesel engines cranking to life and treads clanking across concrete echoed over them. The first tank emerged out of the shadows and stopped. It was followed by five others and the Il-76 was surrounded. “This is not a good day to die, my friend. Come, we are reasonable men and can reach an understanding.”
The colonel nodded. The pro forma moves had been fulfilled. He spoke to his aide and the captain ran back to the Ilyushin. Four men came out each carrying two aluminum suitcases. They double-timed over to Fedor’s car and piled the suitcases inside. “The money is in negotiable U.S. securities,” the colonel muttered.
Fedor handed him the completed inspection forms. “You are cleared to proceed. However, anything you unload here does not have diplomatic protection once it leaves the air base.” Fedor climbed back into the Mercedes-Benz.
The colonel’s eyes narrowed into narrow slits of hatred as he watched the car disappear into the night “Polish whore.” Behind him, trucks unloaded the Ilyushin.
Camp David, Maryland
The mood was relaxed as the president’s staff went about their Saturday-morning duties. Only the Navy commander carrying the football, the black leather briefcase with the nuclear release codes, wore his normal uniform. Everyone else, like Turner, dressed casually. The weather was unusually mild and Maura and Sarah were on the main deck outside the presidential lodge. Inside, Turner was with Parrish and Noreen Coker.
The door opened and an aide entered carrying a briefcase of classified material. A woman’s laughter echoed down the hall and was suddenly hushed. Turner shook her head and smiled and, on cue, a little squeak of laughter scurried in before the door closed. “Your staff, what a happy bunch,” Noreen allowed.
“They like to get away,” Turner replied. “It’s much more relaxed up here.”
“I’m envious,” Noreen replied. “I wish my staff blended so well with my mood.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Madame President,” Parrish said, handing her the PDB. “I’m sorry it’s late but apparently there was some late-breaking intelligence. It’s on the last page.”
Turner opened the slickly printed “President’s Daily Brief” and read the latest intelligence the CIA had to offer. Her face froze. “Apparently our agreement with Rodonov is worthless.” She flung the PDB at Parrish. “The Russians forced a cargo of drugs through Poland last night. A big cargo. They used soldiers. Apparently, Mazie and Bender’s meeting with Rodonov accomplished nothing. It may have even been counterproductive.”
Parrish quickly read the offending article. “It’s too soon to tell. It may be linked to the meeting between Vashin and the Germans. We need to wait and see.”
Turner paced the floor. “Why do I sense the Russians are driving events and not us? More important, why am I spending so much time on this?”
“Time to go,” Noreen said, standing up. “This isn’t for me. Besides, I’ve got a heavy encounter of the most personal kind tonight.”
Normally, Turner would have taken a moment to share a personal confidence with her old friend. “We’ll talk next week,” she said, still pacing. Noreen waved good-bye and spoke to the two secretaries on her way out Turner kept pacing. “The Russians are sending us a message that I don’t like. I want to hear from the DCI.”
“I’m not sure he’s in town this weekend,” Parrish said.
“Someone at Langley must know what’s going on.”
I’ll see who I can find.” Parrish left to speak to his assistant Outside, he confirmed the rumor Noreen had started. The word spread and the lodge was hushed as Turner called for more members of her staff as she turned to other problems. The helicopters were placed on alert and the White House was notified that the president might be returning early.
The White House staff easily accepted the one overriding fact about Maddy Turner: she was a workaholic.
The Hill
The ballroom on the second floor of John Ross Thomas Hall was packed with cadets and their guests. The DiscStaff, a cadet social club, had brought in the most popular disk jockey in El Paso for the Saturday night dance and the big room was rocking. General McMasters and his wife made a brief appearance and, as usual, Lenora came loaded with home-baked cookies for the refreshment table. Also as usual, the Rats rushed the table and the cookies vanished. She smiled as she looked over the dance floor. “I hardly recognize some of our young ladies. Look at Miss Trogger. With her hair down, she’s a totally different person.”
McMasters sighed inwardly when he saw Zeth. She was wearing the dress Maura O’Keith had bought for her and wearing her hair and makeup in the same way. “I believe,” he said in a low voice, “that our Miss Trogger is the star of the evening.” It was true. More than a few of the cadets and guests from town were vying for her attention.
Lenora McMasters knew how her husband worked. “This is not the time for second thoughts,” she murmured. “Besides, dances like these are good for relations with the townies. They see the cadets as normal, everyday kids. Just like them.”
The superintendent was having second thoughts about allowing a civvies dance. For some reason, the cadets put on civilian clothes and forgot they were still cadets. While the conditions for this dance dictated the boys wear coats and ties and the girls modest dresses, the girls were pushing the standard to the limit. “If the minimum wasn’t good enough,” he muttered to himself, “it wouldn’t be the minimum.”
“John, this is the twenty-first century.”
“I know.”
“You can trust them.”
“They’re still kids,” he muttered. He smiled for one of the chaperons who was taking photos of the dance. “Time to go, before I see something I don’t want to see.”
“Hey, Maggot,” Brian said. “Check out the Trog.”
“Yeah, I saw her.” They talked loudly to be heard over the music.
“The studlies are really hounding her.”
“She can handle it,” Matt replied.
“Handle what?” a voice said behind them. They turned around and were facing Rick Pelton, the regimental executive officer.
“All the attention,” Brian answered.
Pelton agreed. “She is something else.” His eyes narrowed into narrow slits. “Who’s that tall townie she’s talking to?”
“He’s a Third Classman at the Air Force Academy,” Brian told him. “We met him at a dinner with my mom.”
“He’s cool,” Matt added. The three cadets watched as the couple moved onto the floor and started to dance. The combination of light, the flowing motion of her hair, and her dress created a lovely picture. “Where did she team to dance like that?” Matt wondered, giving voice to what they all were thinking.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Pelton wondered, now very interested in Zeth and taking the measure of the intruder on his territory. Pelton and the newcomer were both the same age and in the same class at college. However, the Air Force Academy was still the Air Force Academy and that put Pelton at a disadvantage. But Pelton was much better looking and more athletic.
Brian couldn’t help himself and stirred the pot. “I’d guess he’s checking out the Trog.” The music slowed and the couple were clinched in a tight embrace. “I think she’s using him.”
“For what?” Pelton asked.
“To make you jealous.”
“Gimme a break.”
“You gonna let some zoomie bastard just move in?”
Pelton snorted and walked away, looking for some of his buddies. “Why are you egging him on?” Matt asked.
“It’s fun. You got a short-term memory problem? He’s the bastard who chaired you to get back at me, remember?”
“He wasn’t there and Zeth stopped it”
“Yeah, but he was behind it” They watched as Pelton joined the couple and talked to them. The two young men sho
ok hands and Zeth even danced with Pelton for one number. Then she was back with the Air Force Academy cadet and Pelton joined a few of his classmates who were with their girlfriends.
Brian laughed. “Aced out.”
One of the girl rats came up and asked Matt to dance. He blushed brightly. “I don’t know how.”
“I’ll teach you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with fun and something more than just friendship.
“See you later, studly,” Brian said. He wandered through the big double doors and down into the game room in the basement.
Pelton was shooting pool with a buddy. “Askin’ a freakin’ zoomie to the dance,” the other cadet said. “What a bitch.”
Pelton lined up his shot “You got that right” He took the shot and sank the ball.
Warsaw
Bender arrived at the embassy on Monday morning at exactly seven-thirty. It was the same time he always came to work and he was a little concerned that his staff hadn’t got the message that he liked to start early. But rather than ride roughshod over long-established traditions, he decided to give it some time and see if they figured it out for themselves. An embassy staff was a far different critter from a staff in the Air Force where young and eager officers only wanted a chance to show what they could do. With that group, he had to chase them out of the office or they would have worked horrendous hours. The Marine guard came to attention as Bender stepped into the elevator.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Corporal Kincaid,” Bender replied. The Marine was shocked. Not only did Bender know his name, he recognized his rank. The previous ambassador could distinguish a Marine from a cow, but that was about it. Forget about knowing names.
Rather than hit the button to the second floor where his office was located, Bender descended to the basement and walked into the communications section. The clerk on duty was surprised to see him. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Ms. Belfort.” Her mouth opened in surprise that he remembered her name. “I’d like to see my read file, please.”
“The DCM’s secretary hasn’t collated it yet.”
“No problem, I’ll do it.”
“Sir, I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off. Then she showed him the stacks of folders holding the cables that had come in over the weekend. “Most of these came in Friday night after the close of business in Washington.” The timing did not surprise him as bureaucrats liked to clear their desks for the weekend and sent most of their letters and cables out on Friday afternoon. But the amount of message traffic was staggering, far surpassing anything he had experienced in the Air Force.
“Is it always this much?” he asked.
“Oh, no, sir. This was an unusually light weekend.”
He quickly thumbed through the folders, Then he saw the Daily Intelligence Summary, which he had never seen before. He extracted the cable and read it. He replaced the message and thanked the clerk. She beamed as he left, little suspecting the anger beneath his surface.
The corridors on the second floor were deserted when he got off the elevator. As he neared his office, be caught a whiff of coffee. “Someone’s awake,” he mumbled to himself. He turned into the Red Room, the large office and reception area that separated his office from Winslow James’s, his deputy charge of mission. The smell of the brewing coffee drew him to a small side office occupied by one of the interpreters who worked for the chief of mission secretary.
A young woman he had never met stood up. “Good, morning, Mr. Ambassador. May I get you some coffee?”
He was stunned and, for a moment, speechless. She was tall, perhaps five feet ten inches, and on the heavy side, classically Rubenesque. Her soft brown hair hung in waves past her shoulders and highlighted beautiful, doe-shaped hazel eyes and high cheekbones. She had the most perfect mouth and lips he had ever seen and a flawless complexion. “Black,” he finally managed to croak. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” She smiled at him and for the first time in his life, he understood why some men reconsidered their marriage vows. He silently gave thanks that he was a happily married man.
“Ewa Pawlik.” She pronounced her first name Eva.
“Ewa Pawlik,” he repeated.
Again, she smiled. “In Poland, Eva is spelled with a w.” She placed a carafe and cup and saucer on a tray. “I’m an interpreter and work part time,” she explained, answering his unasked question why they hadn’t met Her English was near perfect and he could only hear a trace of an accent. She followed him into his office and poured him a cup.
“Well, Ewa, what do you do the other part of the time?” He expected to hear she was a university student.
She captivated him with a serious look and the legend of Helen of Troy made sense. “I help at my mother’s surgery in Praga. She’s a physician, Dr. Elzbieta Pawlik.” Looking at her, he sympathized with artists who tried to capture the magic of true beauty and in the end, always failed. “Well, I must get back to work. Mr. James likes to have a translated summary of the newspapers.”
He watched her as she walked away. He gave a little shudder and forced himself back to reality. She was too beautiful to be true. He made a note to have security run a background check on her. “Who else is here,” he said to himself. He punched at his telephone. He hit pay dirt on the fourth try when Peter Duncan answered. Three minutes later, the former cop, FBI agent, and DOJ prosecutor was in his office, also holding a cup of Ewa’s coffee.
“Lovely girl,” Duncan said.
Bender came right to business. “Have you heard about Friday night?”
“If you mean the so-called diplomatic flight into Modlin Air Base with its cargo of drugs, no.”
Duncan had unknowingly pushed one of Bender’s buttons. “Don’t play smart. You’re wasting my time.”
“Sorry, sir. I learned about it Saturday night through my contacts with the MO. That’s the police.” He tried to pronounce Milicja Obywatelska but failed miserably. “I came into the office Sunday to check it out, but no one was at work. I even tried the CIA. No luck there, either.” His face grew hard. “This place is a model of inefficiency.”
Bender was impressed. Duncan had been in Poland less than a week. “You didn’t waste any time getting involved.”
“As I recall, those were my marching orders.” He leaned forward and tried to explain it. “General, you’d opened the door to the police with President Lezno and I was able to walk right in. The Poles accepted me because, like them, I’m a cop. It’s what I am. They got problems. But last week, I discovered there’re a lot of good cops here. You can see it in their eyes, in the way they talk, the way they do business. They only want to do their job.”
“How long would it take to set up a special task force, organized and trained to target drug shipments?”
“It already exists—Special Public Services.”
Bender was incredulous. “Special Public Services? It sounds like they’re in charge of sewers.”
Duncan couldn’t help himself. “They are, more or less.”
“I sold the president of the United States a security-aid package for Poland and I never heard of them. This makes me look like a fool.”
“Now don’t go indulging in self-flagellation, General, It’s not the type of special unit the Poles would talk about, least of all to diplomats. Besides, they got problems.”
“Such as?”
“Confused leadership at the top, poor midlevel management, and rotten intelligence. Not to mention lousy pay, which breeds corruption. But the poor bastards are trying, especially at the operational level.”
“How long before the SPS is fully operational?”
“With a little peaking and tweaking, not long.” Bender looked doubtful. Duncan thought for a moment. “I can arrange a tour so you can see for yourself.”
“Set it up for this week.”
Bender fixed Winslow James with an icy stare. He was doing a double burn over his discovery of the Daily Intelligence Summary and Dun
can’s revelation about the existence of Special Public Services. Had his staff deliberately omitted it from the security-aid package to send him a message? Or was the omission the product of poor staff work? He didn’t like either answer. He may have only been ambassador for six weeks but it was time to start sending some very direct messages to his staff. He tapped his read file with a finger. “Winslow, I noticed you included the Daily Intelligence Summary in my read file. Obviously, you talked to Ms. Belfort in Communications. That’s good because I want my staff talking to each other. My question is, Why haven’t I seen it before?”
James stammered something about what the former ambassador preferred. Bender tapped the file. “When did you learn about the incident Friday night at Modlin Air Base?”
“Is it important?”
“I’d say a drug shipment valued at approximately a half billion dollars that was forced through Poland at the point of a gun with an armed fighter escort is important.”
“Sir, we don’t interfere in internal matters.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
James swallowed. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Winslow, you’re letting important things fall through the cracks. Starting tomorrow, you will receive an in-country situation brief every day you are on station. Further, I want a summary of that briefing in my read file. Speaking of which, it will be waiting for me on my desk when I arrive at seven-thirty.”
James spluttered. What Bender was ordering meant he would have to be in his office by six at the latest and his secretary even earlier. That wasn’t why they had joined the foreign service. Then he saw a way out “Who will prepare the briefing?”
Bender glanced at the ceiling. “As I recall, the CIA occupies the entire third floor of this building.”
“True, but they won’t do it.”
“Would you care to bet your career on it?” Silence from James. “Next, Peter Duncan is setting up a tour at a special police unit this week. Be sure it happens and I want you to come along.” James started to protest but Bender held up his hand. “Finally, please find a good obstetrician for my wife.” He allowed a little smile at the look on James’s face. “She’s expecting.”
Edge of Honor Page 20
